


Hound dog

by obscureshipyard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brock is bad at feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication Failure, Fluff, Human disaster Brock Rumlow, Jack thinks it's funny, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Wolf Instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscureshipyard/pseuds/obscureshipyard
Summary: Five times wolf!Brock tried to woo his SIC and the one time it actually worked.Lycanthrope trait- no one has been able to shift into a werewolf in over 200 years. The genetics are latent and often kept secret to avoid ostracization. Family lines with the trait just have a few extra wolf-like tendencies with all the advantages and disadvantages that comes with.Brock has extra sharp senses (smell & hearing being paramount). The draw back being those senses can influence him very strongly, so he ends up coming off as a man with a very short temper who's quick to judge, stubborn, and vicious.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Hound dog

**Author's Note:**

> Never done a 5+1 before, hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks TemptedForTea for the beta read and edits

**You smell like mine.**

Fresh from the field, Jack smelled like salt and musk. It made Brock's mouth water. He'd never been this attracted to a subordinate before. Hell, he'd never been this attracted to anyone before.

At first, it was just Brock taking a casual whiff of a new teammate. He had the lycanthrope trait. It was just how he operated with his weird genetics. He needed to know what his team smelled like to keep himself comfortable and calm. But once he got a nose full of Jack, things got different.

The man was addictive. He didn't wear cologne. His deodorant was sparing and inoffensive. Brock tried to keep it professional, he really did. He tried to find Jack annoying or incompetent, but he never was.

Jack even caught Brock scenting him a few times--leaning in just a bit too close during mission evacs, lingering over his shoulder during team huddles. Nothing was ever said. Jack didn't have the trait, nothing but pure, delicious human in his scent. He couldn't know the implications of Brock scenting him again and again.

Brock kept his mouth shut about it. No reason to out himself unless he knew Jack was interested.

So, that would be Brock's plan. He'd put the moves on Jack. If he was interested, then Brock would have Jack and that delicious scent all for his own.

**I want to impress you.**

In the field there was no one better. Brock didn't rise to the rank of Commander of Alpha STRIKE team by accident. He worked his ass off and honed his skill.

He knew competence in tactical planning wasn't going to get Jack to look his way as anything more than a good CO. Brock figured it might take something more direct and impressive to catch the man's eye.

The perfect opportunity arose in Bosnia. It started as a simple extraction, but bad intel proved it was going to be a lot harder to get out than originally planned. Brock trusted his team with the package, he and Jack were trailing behind to tie up loose ends.

It was the perfect opportunity. They needed to be quiet, efficient, merciless. They already ran into three of the six-man crew who had originally been guarding the target. Jack had taken the first, while Brock took down the next two. Each time Brock brought someone down he glanced back at his partner. Each time he was rewarded with a look like Jack was actually impressed.

Two had been put down by the previous team, so only one remained. One chance left to try and make something of that look, so dangerously close to heated interest.

Jack held his knife at the ready, sticking close behind Brock as they made their way down to the ground floor. Sweat formed a sheen on both of their foreheads. They fought their panting breath, not wanting to give away their position.

Right before Brock stepped off the final step onto the ground floor he saw it. The smallest dance of shadow from around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. He could smell the other man’s adrenaline. _Stranger. Threat._ Brock held his fist up, stopping Jack dead.

Brock crouched low and reached around the corner. His fingers found flesh and he yanked. It all happened so quickly, Brock’s prey barely had a chance to gasp in surprise before Brock had his arm wrapped around the man’s throat, his other hand at the base of his opponent’s skull.

The struggle was quick and harsh, a feeling like prey struggling in his teeth, thrilling but inevitable. Brock jerked and the air split with a loud, wet snap of a breaking neck. Brock felt alive. He felt hungry.

His eyes whipped up to Jack’s face, searching for admiration, desire. But he found only raised eyebrows and a small smile.

"Good one, commander." Jack nodded as he stepped down to the ground floor, and right past Brock.

Brock was speechless. _Good one?_ He’d taken down four armed targets bare handed in less than an hour… _Good one._ He was going to scream.

**I'll feed you.**

"This is really good." Jack looked up from the Tupperware of carne alla pizzaiola Brock had given him.

"Thanks." Brock beamed. "It's my Nonna's recipe. She taught me how to cook it." _For your mate someday, mi bambino._

Brock could remember his Nonna's lessons on cooking as well as her lessons on how to treat his future mate. In a kitchen swirling with the heady flavors of spices and fresh vegetables cooking with care and love, Brock listened well.

He and Jack took lunch breaks together nearly every day now. As soon as Jack mentioned wanting to try some of Brock's cooking, the wolf inside had jumped at the opportunity. He'd pulled out all the stops finding the best ingredients he could and doing three trial runs before making the final dish to be shared.

He made enough to feed himself, Jack, and then some. But it was all for Jack. Brock's stomach knotted up all morning just hoping Jack would like it. Something about feeding Jack just made Brock feel happy and proud.

"You make enough for everyone, Commander?" Anders walked by their small table in the breakroom. Brock liked sitting at that table with Jack, it was far too small for three grown men, so Brock had the perfect excuse to enjoy eating alone with his SIC.

"No, you ungrateful bastard. I've shared food with you lot before and not one of you ever complimented it. So, screw off." He kept his tone light, like it was all a big joke. Inside he wanted to snarl. _His food. His Jack. Back off._

Anders walked away with a chuckle and Brock felt his body relax. Turning back in his seat he found Jack leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"I still need to finish that write up about Munich." Jack handed over the Tupperware with a nod. "Thanks again. You're one hell of a cook."

Brock tried to school his goofy smile but found he was powerless. Jack had finished the entire meal, practically licked the bowl clean.

Suddenly the twenty other recipes he had earmarked in the family cookbook didn't seem so foolish. He counted this as a victory.

**I am strong.**

Brock was not a man to pull his punches. Sparring with Jack was no exception. He wanted to show Jack how strong he was, impress him with his body in this, at least. Plus, the idea of seeing bruises on that pale skin caused by his own hands drove Brock to the frayed edge of his control.

Jack wasn't one to give in either. Since the start of their session on the mat he'd landed a right hook strong enough to make Brock taste blood. Brock smiled a bloody smile as he tackled Jack to the mat. Brock’s muscle packed body and lower center of gravity gave him an edge in grappling.

He wanted to bite, to mark, to drive his hips forward until he was grinding his cock against Jack. He’d do it. He felt rabid and wild.

Jack didn’t give an inch. As soon as he was down, he planted a foot for leverage and hurled them over until Jack had him pinned. The force of the landing drove all the air from Brock’s lungs. He struggled for breath as his arms pulled up to block Jack’s next blow.

Jack pulled up to get momentum for his next strike and Brock saw his opportunity. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s middle and twisted his own hips, creating enough force to throw Jack off balance.

They turned and struggled, but Brock landed on top with a triumphant snarl. Sucking in a breath he caught the scent of something sharp. Brock pulled up short. An acrid stench of fear was coming from Jack.

They were both still, Brock braced above staring down at Jack’s flush face. The scent got thicker, so Brock pulled away. They both stood from the mat, limbs shaky from exertion. Jack wouldn’t look at him, just started walking away.

“Good fight.” Brock called after him. Jack didn’t say anything.

**I can protect you.**

Brock was on edge. Jack kept his distance since their fight, sending Brock into a tailspin trying to understand what had gone wrong. Why was Jack afraid of him? He had agonized over the question for days and it wasn’t getting any clearer.

Waking into the mess hall and hearing people talking shit was normal. Brock mostly tuned it out. Best to let nature take its course and let the shit talker get their own just desserts.

But something caught Brock's wolf-sharp ears. "Seriously though, what's with the eye? Fucking creepy man. Is it like dead or something? Makes him look even more like a creepy Frankenstein."

Brock knew instantly what the little bastard was snickering over. He saw red. Before Brock could register his movements, he was across the room. His fist drew back and laid in hard on Smith's surprised face. The kid went down like a sack of potatoes and the room went silent.

"Don't talk shit about--your teammates." Brock stumbled over the words. He recovered his head enough to realize the foolishness of defending Jack's honor like the giant man was some blushing damsel. But, damn, he wanted to protect him. It was a teachable moment, he reasoned.

"Talking shit to a guy's face and getting it right back, I got no problem with. But, this catty, behind the back bullshit don't happen on my team." Brock loudly declared. He stormed off, stomach too knotted to feel hunger anymore.

**Will you be mine?**

Brock berated himself all the way back to his office. It was a stupid move. He wasn’t likely to catch much flak from higher up the chain, already being known for his more hands-on approach to discipline when his subordinates fucked up badly enough. Hell, Pierce would probably be proud.

So caught up in his dark storm cloud of thought, Brock didn’t notice the other person in his office until he shut the door.

“We need to talk. But first, did you punch Smith in the face?” Jack sat hunched in the chair on the far side of Brock’s desk, holding his phone. Brock took his seat behind the desk with a huff.

“The gossip around here travels fast.” Brock tried to ignore the lump in his throat. He didn’t know how to process this, especially not with Jack sitting two feet away.

“Fast enough that I already know what he said. You didn’t have to--”

“I did. He was being a shit and needed to be put into place.” Brock didn’t want to lie anymore. He was tired of the games.

“That the only reason you did it?” Jack’s face was carefully blank as he leaned forward in the chair. Brock desperately wanted to know what was going on inside that head of his. He met Jack’s eye and knew it was now or never. Brock was done. It had been far too long since this whole mess started.

"Look, this is me stepping out of line, so call me on it if I’m making you uncomfortable or anything. But I’ve been… I like you. Like, I’m _interested_ in you. I’ve been making an ass out of myself for months now and feel like it’s all for nothing. I mean, hell, do you even like me?"

"Of course, I like you." _Commander_ Jack didn't say it out loud, but they both heard it. Brock wanted to scream. He ran his hands through his hair and took in a deep breath. Jack didn’t smell like rancid anxiety anymore.

_Fuck it, now or never._

"No, I mean would you date me? Not a hypothetical or nothing. Would you go out with me?" Brock held his breath. He prayed he looked less terrified than he felt.

Jack was silent for a long moment, then he stood. Sauntering over, Jack leaned back against Brock’s desk. "You finally got the balls to ask me out?"

"Wha--I've been…" Brock trailed off, completely deflated. Jack was smiling.

"Answer's yes." Jack leaned down over Brock’s chair, balancing himself on the armrests. "We going out or just going to your place after work?"

Standing this close, Jack’s scent was thick. Brock couldn’t smell a lie. This was something far more sultry. His mouth struggled to keep up with his befuddled brain.

"Mine." He finally answered. It made Jack smile wider. Damn, he looked even more beautiful when he smiled like that. “Wait, the other day when we were fighting, you got scared. And you’ve been ducking me ever since!”

"That’s because I was afraid you felt how hard I was when you were on top of me.” Jack laughed out loud at the face Brock made. In his defense, he had gone from angry to confused to horny as hell in the last three minutes

“I’ll meet you at your apartment after work. Maybe you can cook for me again." Jack leaned down, his face only a few inches from Brock’s. Heat raced over Brock’s skin, the proximity, the words. "If we get hungry."

Brock felt lightheaded. His eyes dropped to Jack’s lips. What he would give for just a taste...

“See you after work.” Jack pulled away, taking his warmth and scent with him. Brock was so going to make him pay for that.


End file.
